It was a testament to her willpower that she truly did go to sleep.
30
BAILEY GENTLY SURFACED TO THE PLEASURE OF HIS WARM, hard hand moving from one breast to another, massaging and stroking. There was no sense of disorientation; she knew him immediately, knew who held her so securely. He lightly pulled and pinched her nipples, his hand slow and sure as he brought them to hardness. Pleasure eddied from her breasts in lazy ripples, flowing through her, beginning to call up the heat and fullness of desire.
She floated drowsily between pleasure and sleep. If she wanted more, all she had to do was push back against the erection that was prodding her. A simple invitation was all that was needed…
Her eyes snapped open as memory flooded back.
“Get that damn thing away from me!” she snapped, jerking away and trying to fight free of the heavy layers of clothes as well as his imprisoning arm. If he thought he could blow hot and cold and she’d jump to his tune, then his powers of perception sucked.
He fell over onto his back, laughing so hard she thought he’d choke. She thought about helping him choke. Finally she managed to roll over onto her stomach and lift herself on her elbows. She glared at him through the curtain of hair hanging in her face. He must have just replenished the fire, though she hadn’t awakened when he left the shelter. The light from the fire was flickering brightly, reflecting on the rock behind him and casting enough light into the shelter that she could see him fairly well as he clutched his stomach and howled with laughter. Gimlet-eyed, she waited for him to realize she didn’t see any humor in this at all.
“I can’t exactly take it off and put it in my pocket when I’m not using it,” he finally managed to say, wiping tears from his eyes.
“I don’t care where you put it,” she said flatly. “Just stop poking me with it.”
“I would ask if you’re in a better mood than when you went to sleep, but offhand I’d say no.” He was still smiling as he settled on his side again, curling a muscled arm under his head and with the other reaching to hook his hand around her waist and drag her back into position. She went stiffly, unhappy with the situation but knowing they pretty much had to sleep in that position. The only other options were to lie face-to-face in each other’s arms, which she wasn’t willing to do, or for her to spoon him, which she also wasn’t willing to do. His thighs slid against hers, her shoulders rested against his chest, and his body heat once more surrounded her—and the bulge in his pants nestled against her bottom, just like before.
He smoothed a tendril of hair out of her face, and irritably she jerked her head away from his touch. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for half an hour,” he murmured.
“I don’t know why. You wanted me to sleep; I was sleeping. Leave me alone.”
His arm tightened around her. “I was trying to be considerate. You were so nervous you wouldn’t have enjoyed it,” he explained.
Her lips tightened. “How would you know? You didn’t give me a chance.”
“No point in taking the chance. You’d been getting more and more tense all afternoon. I don’t know what was bothering you, but I could wait until you were either ready to talk about it or you came to terms with it yourself.”
“Stop trying to be so understanding,” she said grumpily. “It doesn’t suit you.” But she didn’t elbow him when he snuggled her closer.
“So, are you ready to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Have you come to terms with it, whatever it is?”
“No! Leave me alone, I told you. I want to go to sleep.” She wasn’t at all sleepy now, but he didn’t have to know that.
He pushed her hair to the side and nuzzled the nape of her neck, his lips and breath burning on her skin. “I know this isn’t easy for you, trusting someone,” he murmured, the movement of his lips the softest, lightest caress. “You like being alone.”
No, she didn’t. She was more comfortable alone. There was a difference.
“It’s risky, caring about someone,” he continued in that soft tone, barely above a whisper. His voice soothed over her like aged, mellow whiskey. “And you don’t like taking risks. You’ve kept people at arm’s length because you know you’re a softie, and the best way to protect yourself is not to let anyone get close.”
A small shock reverberated through her, leaving behind a spurt of panic. “I’m not a softie.” She acted calm and remote because she was a calm and remote person. She didn’t cry because she wasn’t a crier. She most definitely was not a softie.
“You’re a softie,” he repeated. “Do you think I don’t remember you talking to me, after the crash, when you still thought I was a stick-up-my-ass sourpuss? Your voice was as gentle as if you were talking to a baby. You patted me.”
“I did not.” Had she?
“Yes, you did.”
Maybe she had. “I don’t remember,” she grumbled. “But if I did, it was because I was grateful.”
“My ass. You’d have pulled me out of the plane because you were grateful. You wouldn’t have nearly killed yourself trying to take care of me. You wouldn’t have given me your warmest piece of clothing when you were freezing and obviously needed it.”
She sniffed. “I take my gratitude seriously.”
“Uh-huh. I think you’re a complete marshmallow.” He repeated the charge as he slid his hand down her arm and around her waist to slide under her shirts, where it rested on her stomach. The slight roughness of his fingertips rasped against her smooth skin as he began making little circles with them. “But I like marshmallows. I like the way they taste, the way they feel.” His lips moved from the back of her neck to where the curve of her shoulder began and he gently closed his teeth over the muscle there, biting down ever so slightly.